


The Thing About Fathers and Daughters

by Katiegirl901



Series: As You Wish [4]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Gen, Remembering Ziva and foreshadowing the future, sad but hopeful, short and sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 03:31:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20251471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katiegirl901/pseuds/Katiegirl901
Summary: Jacqueline Sloane prided herself on being an observant person, it was this skill that constantly brought her attention to the one tool in his basement that never seemed to move.





	The Thing About Fathers and Daughters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coolbyrne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolbyrne/gifts), [jenni3penny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenni3penny/gifts).

> Just a short one shot set sometime shortly after 'She', just a fluff piece that came to me in the middle of the night... Can be preslibbs or established Slibbs it really doesn't matter for this... A gift for Coolbyrne and Jenni3penny for their epic Slibbs fics! This is in no way anywhere near your level and it's barely even Slibbs but it's all I've got, thank you guys for your awesome contributions to the fandom!

Jacqueline Sloane prided herself on being an observant person, it was what she had built her career on and it was what made her tick. Observing those around her, what made them the way they were was what made her who she was. It was this skill that constantly brought her attention to the one tool in his basement that never seemed to move.

She had never asked him about the boat, it had almost become a joke between them at this point for her to wander into his basement, glance over at the boat and then continue on as if it didn’t exist. Just because she pretended it wasn’t there didn’t mean she didn’t notice it at all. She saw all of the progress, years of watching her father had trained her eye to catch the smallest of changes in a project. She would never admit it to him but she could even name most of the tools lining the walls and shelves of his precious basement, God only knew she spent enough time down there, hanging out, doing work, killing time before poker nights, any excuse to be with him really. She saw the way he handled each of his tools, with a care and patience only he could posses but she had never seen him handle this particular tool. In fact she was almost sure that the chisel hanging on the tool board in front of her hadn’t moved since she had first entered the basement a year earlier.

An old Buck Mortise chisel, something she knew he could probably find use for, but it had stayed surprisingly still. Her curiosity got the better of her as she approached the workbench and carefully lifted the chisel out of it’s spot. It seemed to be in one piece and serviceable but as she turned it around in her hand she realized exactly why it had stayed in that spot for so long, not because it didn’t have a purpose but because it was invaluable to the man who owned it, much more than a tool and far to precious to risk breaking.

She looked down at the simple word carved into the handle of the chisel, it would be invisible to anyone who wasn’t looking and if the chisel was being held it would be pressed against the users palm. One word with so much meaning.

_Dad_.

“She got me that after Somalia.”

His words startled her out of her reverie and she turned around to face him guiltily, although the guilt was accompanied by a bit of surprise. She had just assumed that the chisel had been a gift from his youngest daughter, a little girl lost far too young. It was becoming more and more clear by the day why he had a rule about assumptions and as she stared at the man standing on the stairs, his blue eyes sad and his face tired she wished she had just well enough alone.

She had read bits of the journals, enough to know about Somalia and the horrors the woman had endured. The case involving Gibbs’ oldest daughter still rang in all of their ears. An explosion no one had been safe from, not her, not Tim and certainly not Ellie, another daughter who had been caught in the blast zone with no way out.

She turned the chisel over in her hands one last time before carefully returning it to it’s spot on the wall.

“She…”

Jack looked over at him but remained silent, giving him space to continue if he wished but not pushing him.

“She was a lot like you.” He finally said, “A fighter with a heart of gold… You would’ve liked her.”

She offered him a soft smile as she took a few steps closer to him.

“Sounds a lot someone else I know.” She commented quietly.

“Bishop and Ziva would’ve gotten along.” Gibbs stated.

“I meant you… But Ellie does share those traits too.” She agreed slowly.

Gibbs sat down on the step slowly and rubbed his hand over his face roughly, “Can’t lose her too, Jack.”

She crossed the final two steps between them and rested a hand on his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze when he let his forehead fall against her stomach, leaning on her for support, both physical and emotional.

“She’s not going anywhere.” She assured him quietly, “The thing about daughters who love their fathers… They always come back…”


End file.
